“No, I didn’t. And I only knew that there was a woman there by the black fur she wore around her throat. I was right at the opposite end of the shed, remember, and I only saw ’er just for a second—a biggish woman’s white face and the black fur.”
“You didn’t see the person who knocked you down?”
“No, I didn’t—the cursed blackguard,” was old Theed’s quick reply. “Had I seen him, I’d ’ave given ’im a taste of my bit o’ rubber—I tell yer. He wouldn’t ’ave been sensible yet—you bet!”
“But how did they get in?” I asked, amazed at his story.
“Get in? Why, they seem to ’ave ’ad a latch-key. At any rate they opened the door with a duplicate key that they’d got from somewhere. There’s no sign of ’em having broken in.”
For a few moments I stood in silence, then Theed’s son having called a taxi, I got in and took our faithful night-watchman down to Gunnersbury.
There, on the spot, he explained to me exactly what had occurred in the night, giving a dramatic demonstration of how he had crept up to the intruders, and pointing out the spot where he had fallen, and where, indeed, there were some palpable blood-spots from the wound in his head.
“While I lay ’ere, sir,” he added, “the three of ’em, of course, just pried into everything they wanted to see, and then went out, closin’ the door after them. It was just after eight this morning when I came to, and I tell you I felt quite dazed, and horrible bad!”
“What time do you think all this happened?” I inquired.
“In the middle of the night—between two and three o’clock—I should say.”